


Empty

by seryle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, rip your heart out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 11:30:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seryle/pseuds/seryle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Normally, a dog will bark and bare fangs before attacking. When they snap without warning, there's something wrong that can't be fixed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty

**Author's Note:**

> I've been asked to add a warning that this will rip your heart out.

The bar was packed, as to be expected on a Saturday night, because when you live in the middle of nowhere, nobody’s got anything better to do than drink. A distinctive twang of drunken redneck guitar complimented the 20 day old rot gut that Dean sucked down like water. Sam had begged for the car a few hours back, dodging any request for more info; despite his best efforts to hide it, Dean could see the fraying at the edges, the tearing at the seams. Let the kid have a night to himself.

Most days, Dean would be all over the crowd of twenty somethings calling shots at the other end of the counter. Most days, he’d be chatting up the hot blonde in the Metallica shirt and leather boots. Most days, he’d at least hustle a little pool and make enough cash to support his poison of choice. But today wasn’t most days. In exactly one week, Bobby would be gone for a year and a half. Tomorrow would mark a month since he tried to reach Cas, two since Sam started the trials. All that warranted an extra pour, surely, but today – today was Ben’s birthday.

Lisa’s had been two months ago, but that was always a low-key celebration. Breakfast in bed and a glass of wine at night, nothing special. But Ben’s – that was the day Dean had first met the kid. The day Lisa learned Dean was still alive. The day Dean was offered a place to come home to.

Ben hit 15 this year. Dean had always planned on sneaking him away and teaching him how to handle the Impala on some dusty back road, then park her and crack a beer while they watched the stars.

None of that was an option now.

He had wrestled with himself over sending a gift. But what use would Ben have for a Zippo, or a flask? And he could never know how valued those items were to Dean. They’d end up in a box, under his bed, until Lisa cleaned up one day and threw them out.

Lisa most likely tried to have some get together, only for Ben to huff about how he was too old for crap like this. He’d open gifts, blow out candles, and take off with his friends to stay up all night on Call of Duty. Dean would smack him on the head for the attitude, then slip him a 6-pack on the way out. He wondered if the kid was still punching like he taught him, if anything good from that year stuck through the angelic reset. Maybe he could at least change the oil on his Mom’s car. Maybe he still listened to Zeppelin. Maybe he’d find that leather jacket and use it.

The swill in his glass burned all the way down to the fire in his belly, dulling the ache in his left knee. Damn thing had been giving him grief for years now, and sitting at the bar with it all cramped up wasn’t helping any. He grimaced, turning to the side to stretch, kicking it in and out a few times to loosen the joint up. It creaked from within like an old hinge. That, of course, reminded him of the impala, which reminded him of Ben, which reminded him of the mostly full glass in front of his face. But today, nothing could fill the hollowness in his chest, try as he might by dumping in gasoline.

“Oi!”

The lithe young thing behind the bar turned to face him. He shook the empty glass, and it was promptly filled again. The glass hit his lips the same moment someone tapped his elbow.

“Dance with me.”

Dean’s eyes glided over the rim to his right. How the blond had managed to get into this place was beyond him. No way she was over 18. The floral pattern on her dress reminded him of the curtains Lisa had on her bedroom window. It fluttered in unison with her hair as the bar door swung open and shut. The pain in his knee was written clearly across his face as he stared down at her.

“Darlin’, I don’ think that’s legal,” he answered, firmly planted in his seat.

Innocence radiated from her bright blue eyes. Something about the honesty in her face made him pause before telling her to fuck off. She was undemanding and open, no smirk or secret intention.

“You’re military, right?” she prompted, leaning on the bar. “You’ve got the look. My brother had it.”

She stuck out her hand again, faint smile on her lips. “Thursday’s military appreciation night. Dance with me.”

The last line lingered more as a command than request. The midpaced lilt of the band felt fast enough that he wouldn’t be creeping on her, but slow enough that he wouldn’t wind up stepping on her toes, either. He started to protest again, but she placed a hand on his arm and started to pull, and he found himself stumbling to his feet.

This was insane. She was young enough to be his daughter. The height difference made placing his hands easy, his palm settling nicely between her shoulderblades. He worried about the rough callouses on her soft skin, but she didn’t mind. They fell into an easy rhythm, gently moving across the dance floor. His mind wandered off to his first dance lessons, Ben laughing at how ridiculous he looked, Lisa beaming when she got him to move on beat; all those nights thereafter when they’d stay up late, after Ben was in bed, Lisa’s head against his shoulder as they circled. They were safe now, that’s what matters. Ben would never know who he learned to fix a car from, Lisa would never remember his smile when he woke up next to her, but they’d be safe, and he could find solace in that. Right?

The blonde followed his motions, keeping in time, and didn’t bat an eye when the first few tears streamed down his face. She smiled softly and didn’t ask questions. She didn’t have to. When the song ended, she stood on her toes to kiss his cheek.

“I’m Stephanie,” she said.

“Dean,” he croaked out, his throat held tight. Her eyes shone as brilliant as her smile. A voice from inside that void in his chest admitted how proud he’d’ve been to be her dad.

“Thank you, Dean, for the dance,” she curtsied before bouncing off. He trudged back to his seat, dumped out the last drops in his glass, and replaced them with some Johnny Walker Blue Label. As the band struck up the next number, the alcohol seemed to dull the pain a bit easier. But the hole was still there.

It only took a few minutes for some belligerent young idiot (who was barely old enough to be drinking underage) to start manhandling Dean while spouting some crap bout ‘laying a hand on his girl,’ ‘old pervert,’ and some similar bull. It only took Dean a few seconds to react.

Normally, this would involve a smirk, an off-handed comment, and with a bit of wit, charm, and luck, everyone would go home with all teeth intact. Occasionally, he’d have to growl out a threat, throw a punch, and walk out. But not today. Today his head was filled with more than just the usual levels of loathing. Today he was liable to a labile mood, and the flip down was too much.

Normally, a dog will bark and bare fangs before attacking. When they snap without warning, there’s something wrong that can’t be fixed.

The first punch layed him out, no one was surprised at that. Once the kid scrambled back to his feet, the second was excessive, but excusable. By the time the third hit, the bar grew quiet and worried.

Dean pinned him down, knees on shoulders to keep those bothersome arms from covering himself. Blow after blow landed on his face. Dean’s knuckles swelled and bruised from using a closed fist. Someone screamed from distance, but he didn’t hear. He couldn’t hear, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t feel. There was only searing pain from within and someone to take it out on.

His right arm grew very heavy, very suddenly. Something held him back. He turned, throwing all his weight behind a left hook before jerking to a stop. It was Stephanie. Crying. The image pieced him enough to make him realize what the hell he was doing. Dean shifted his weight off the boy, rolling onto his good knee to stand up, so the girl could see to the damage he’d caused. Instead, she clung to Dean’s arm like her life depended on it, babbling on incoherently into his shirt. He lifted her chin to ask what she said, but the words died on his tongue.

Tears streamed down his face as he made out the words beneath the sobs. He hugged the girl and let her cry into his shoulder.

“It’s okay James, I’m here. You’re alright. It’s going to be alright. Everything will be okay. I won’t leave my big brother. I won’t. ”


End file.
